


Confession

by rosemary_madness



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Morty Smith, Butt Plugs, Chastity Device, Dacryphilia, Dry Orgasm, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Humiliation, M/M, Masochism, Orphan Morty, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Imbalance, Sadism, Sort Of, Spanking, Top Rick, but pretty light, clearly i dont understand how church works, dubcon, or a cock cage if you will, priest rick, ummmm i guess im adding more??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-02-17 09:05:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13073634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosemary_madness/pseuds/rosemary_madness
Summary: Smirking like he’d gotten just the answer he needed, Father Sanchez grabbed at Morty’s hands and held them over the boy’s head, pushing his back into the wall.“Someone’s been a naughty boy,” he drawled, pushing his knee in between the thin legs. “Can you guess who it is, my child?” he finished, whispering into the boy’s ear.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Исповедь](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13713273) by [victoria_holmes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoria_holmes/pseuds/victoria_holmes)



> As always, kind comments and kudos are appreciate. I just ask that you don't be rude :) 
> 
> Um... so I just really wanted to write something with priest!Rick, so this happened??? I really hope you guys like it. 
> 
> (Btw, if you may happen to be concerned about the continuation of my trash child Awakening, its still going, just waiting for my cool beta!)

_ “I’m gonna take your innocence, Morty. God won’t even remember your name when I’m done with you.”  _

Morty was definitely going to Hell for this. 

Masturbating to the thoughts of another male, and the preacher no less, was blatantly against the laws of God. Morty could recite the Lord’s summons for sexual purity if he thought about it, but as the boy dipped his hand underneath his scarlet robes, it wasn’t God he was thinking about.

“Take it,” he whispered, sliding his fingers down and wrapping them around his modest length, gasping for air when he felt the precum slicked surface. 

He’d tried, honestly and earnestly, not to break the bonds of chastity, but as the boy resisted, the ache for satisfaction only increased; the whispers of his desires beckoning to his bed. So now, he was finally breaking. And it felt amazing. 

As he fumbled to stroke his erection, he closed his eyes, imagining it was the elder priest running expert hands up and down the length, gaze just as hungry as his own. 

“Yes,” he moaned, responding to unspoken questions of enjoyment, the inexperienced choir boy pleased with any attention he got. 

He increased his pace, frantic for a quick release, and groaned into his pillow much louder than he expected. “I-I’m close. I’m close, Fa-” The imaginary hands grabbed at him, just as desperate to please the boy until they were shattered by the sound of the door creaking. 

Like the obedient servant he was, Morty shot up, covering himself back up with his wrinkled garments. 

Without an invitation for entry, the man of Morty’s visions burst through the door, a seething scowl on his face and a growl in his voice as he spoke. 

“What in God’s name were you doing, Morty?” 

Morty squirmed under the intensity of the gaze, his cock stirring at the sight of the twilight-eyed priest. He prayed with all his heart Father Sanchez hadn’t an idea of that question’s answer, at the very least because God pitied the awful boy. 

“I was… I was praying, Father,” he lied, chancing one look at a small bag the priest was holding before staring at the stone floor with a blush.

“Is that so…?” 

Morty cleared his throat, attempting to summon his voice into action, but only a whisper obeyed as he gave his confirmation. 

The sound of Father Sanchez’s shoes clicking with the gray stone aligned with the pulse of his treacherous heart caused Morty to completely miss what the priest said. 

“Let me repeat myself. I don’t believe you."

The boy’s head flew up to meet the man’s eyes and the way his hair was neatly tucked behind his ears, incredibly confused at the wicked smirk - no longer scowl - on his face. It looked like the smile of his fantasies, and it made the blood rush straight to his cock. 

“Those were no idle mewlings, young man. Tell me- tell Father Sanchez what you were up to, and all will be well.” 

Morty stuttered, fingers twisting nervously around the cross strung on his neck, as he searched for what to say. He couldn’t possibly tell the Father what he was up to.

“Like I said… Praying,” he replied, eyes diverted in case they betrayed him again. 

Faster than he could breathe, Father Sanchez was standing above Morty, nestled between the boy’s legs and just shy of his hungry erection. 

“God does not stand for liars, boy. Tell me what you were up to,” he smiled with a wolfish glint in his eyes. 

Feeling the priest could somehow see through his robes, Morty tucked his hands defensively over his erection, wincing when he pressed just a bit too hard against it. 

“Do you remember the scripture 1 John 1:9, Morty?” Father Sanchez asked. 

Of course Morty did. It was recited near every week along with the others the priest deemed “important” for his congregation to know, and being orphaned and therefore a ward of the church, Morty had the opportunity to say it even once a day as the two ate together. 

“Yes, Father,” he squeaked, rubbing a hand against his clothed length to hopefully calm it. 

“Say it for me,” he commanded, raising the boy’s chin with one of his long, weathered fingers. 

“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness,” he recited, cheeks dark as his robes while he avoided eye contact. 

“Good,” the priest nodded to himself, finger still tucked under the chin as he proceeded. “Now, tell me what you were up to before I came in. Your very salvation my be on the line, Morty.” 

He couldn’t tell him! Even if God himself were in the room with them, Morty didn’t think he could confess his shameful actions. 

“It was nothing, Father…”

Smirking like he’d gotten just the answer he needed, Father Sanchez grabbed at Morty’s hands and held them over the boy’s head, pushing his back into the wall. 

“Someone’s been a naughty boy,” he drawled, pushing his knee in between the thin legs. “Can you guess who it is, my child?” he finished, whispering into the boy’s ear. 

Morty couldn’t help but subtly rut against the offered leg, desperate for friction and that ever-building climax. 

“No! No, Father…” He was going to go to the grave with this secret, even if keeping it killed him.

The priest raised an entertained brow at him, eyes locked on the boy’s eager actions. 

“It’s you,” he hummed. ”I think you’ve been sexually impure, Morty Smith. I thought you were better than your bastard father…” he tsked. 

“I am!” he immediately shot back. 

“Then tell me what you were up to,” Father Sanchez hissed, sliding his shoe up to the boy’s erection and brushing against it, eyes glowing as he watched Morty attempt to free his hands and give the length attention. 

“I was doing nothing,” Morty moaned out, practically falling apart with the toed strokes. 

“I suppose I’ll have to punish you for lying to God,” the priest said with a seemingly fake sense of disappointment, causing the brunet to whimper as the ministering halted. 

The boy’s numbing hands were quickly gathered into one of the other’s as Father Sanchez searched for something in the small black bag. Morty couldn’t see what it was, but he suddenly felt a tempting finger dart under his robe and graze along the underside of his sensitive length before a cold metal ring snapped tight around the base of his cock, prompting a gasp to tumble from his mouth. 

Those twilight eyes begged him to make a word of protest, to stop the priest from what he was doing, but Morty couldn’t bring himself to speak. 

Soon, he felt a thinner strand of metal idle near his bundles of nerves, just below the base of his cock, when it was forcefully shoved between them with a violent thwap and the feel of metal caging in his aching length. 

A few silent moments later, Father Sanchez placed his attention back on the boy, his hand grasped around the metal contraption and radiating heat to the trapped erection. 

“This, my dear child, is a chastity device. It will ensure you will keep your sinful hands off of yourself... to protect your innocence,” he annunciated with a squeeze to a single ball of nerves. “It comes off when you confess and clear your soul of guilt.” 

Morty keened his hips forward and pushed against the hold on his arms again, frantic for some sort of contact. A damning moan escaped his lips as more blood rushed to his constricted cock, creating its own unique mix of pain and pleasure, but he still shook his head in protest to admitting anything. 

“The things I do for spiritual purity,” the priest said more to himself than Morty, laying the kid down on the small mattress before climbing on top and straddling him. “Not enough incentive, Morty?” he whispered into the boy’s ear before biting hard on the tender skin and marking his way down to the throat, apparently encouraged with each lustful whimper. 

Another wave of desire rippled through the boy, causing the device to tighten further. 

Father Sanchez continued to nip at the milk white skin, pausing over the center of Morty’s throat. 

“The Adam’s apple,” he chuckled. “Named after another male who choked on his physical desires, though  _ he _ sought repentance.” 

There was a snap of the man’s teeth as he took a hungry mouthful of Morty’s sensitive point. The boy screamed out his name, toes digging into the thin sheets as he felt the mark being made. 

Sweat trickled down his hairline and stung at the smaller bruises as they crept towards the sheets. It was all Morty could do to whimper and bring his hips up to rub against the priest’s leg. The extent to which Father Sanchez’s bite invigorated the brunet scared him. He had no idea he was such a slave to pain, his cock throbbing for that same sensation. 

“Please…” Morty whined, shaking his numb hands against the iron grip. “Take-Take it off,” he near wept. The blood ran thick in the length as it did from his bite, and if he didn’t get that damn thing off soon then he’d do anything, say anything to free it. 

“Just tell me what you were doing, child,” the priest responded, his expression placid. 

“I sa-said I was praying…! Please, Father,” he panted, and for a moment it seemed like the man was finally convinced. He moved down from his straddled position above Morty’s chest and let go of the boy’s arms, sliding up the wrinkled robes to presumably unlock the device, when he reached a hand down and shoved two fingers in past Morty’s tight entrance. 

It was extremely painful, just like the bite, and felt too full, but so with the case of the bite, the pain soon faded into pleasure. 

“Fuck!” 

“Don’t swear at me, boy! You are to confess your sins before a man of God, not waste my time,” Father Sanchez bellowed, emphasizing his point by pulling the fingers out slowly and shoving them back in, knuckled flush against the entrance. 

Morty had never felt this sensation of being… filled. It was strange and uncomfortable but incredibly satisfying at the same time, despite the pain caused by the unslicked digits. The fingers were rough against his walls with their spindly knuckles and calloused surface, twisting slightly inside. 

“I-I can’t,” the brunet squeezed, his eyes pleading with the priest who looked down at him with a fiery grin. 

“You can’t what?” Father Sanchez asked, partly pulling the fingers out and pressing them into something hard inside Morty. 

“Jesus Christ!” he screamed, his cock weeping for attention at the feel of a stolen orgasm. 

Something in the priest’s eyes changed then, driving him into a resolute course of action as he ran his fingers along the spot once more and growled low in his chest at the sound of Morty moaning. That sound drove his fingers to seemingly act of their own volition as they were dragged out and thrust into Morty’s parted lips and lathered with the saliva before retreating back down. Another finger was added in with the others, and they were thrust back and forth, hitting the spot with each movement. 

“Oh my God! Please, God, yes,” Morty shuttered, feeling the pleasure eat away at his tether to reality, honing his senses in on his pinpoints of pressure. The device moved with him as he thrust his hips down onto the fingers, the precum soaked length clashing with the cold metal and making him yelp. 

“Don’t call out for God, Morty. Say my name,” Father Sanchez growled, his fingers quickening inside the boy and his eyes glowing through the curtain of his disheveled hair. 

“Father Sanchez- Father Sanchez, please,” Morty screamed his newly caged hands just inches from their pulsating target. He was so close. He just needed to- and then the movements stopped. 

The priest slinked closer to the boy, hands still, and bit down on the boy’s bottom lip before licking at the quivering wound. “Just confess your sins to me, and I’ll give you what you want,” he whispered, tapping his fingers against that sensitive spot to demonstrate what was on the line. 

Morty’s resolution was fading into a desperate need to find release, the simple action driving him near crazy. Somehow, he managed to keep silent, letting a shaking breath fall out of his mouth. 

Father Sanchez pulled the confined hands down to the cold surface and let them rest their, agitating the metal and spreading heat towards the length as he began to rapidly run his fingers back and forth inside the boy. 

It was over. As Morty was overwhelmed by the pressure both inside himself and on himself, mixed with the image of the increasingly frantic priest, his defenses shattered around him and he screamed out his confession before the tension came to its apex and drowned him in his release. 

“What a good boy,” Father Sanchez cooed, releasing the boy’s hands and slowly removing the now coated metal from the tender skin. He ran his rough hands from the base to the tip and gave it a small squeeze before letting it go and relishing in the overstimulated whine from the brunet below him. “God would be so proud of you,” he chimed, patting the sweaty forehead before climbing off of the bed and smoothing out his own robes. 

“Now, say your prayers and get some sleep, my child. I believe I have a new job for you tomorrow.” And with that, the door clicked shut. 

He ought to confess more often, Morty thought, closing his eyes, his exhausted body succumbing to the dark. 


	2. Cleanse Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically a repeat of last time, but there is spanking instead of a cock ring, and Morty is understanding what he likes more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wasn't expecting this, but I guess there's going to me more?? Like at least one more chapter after this if not two. Super gratuitous like last time and written in one go without a beta, but oh well. I'm going for it anyway and missed these church dudes. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this addition!

One month.

One whole month of Hell since his last confession.

He’d been praying, actually praying, and it did nothing to suppress his need for more. No matter how many times he called out the name of God, asked for strength from Mother Marie, or studied over the scriptures, his mind always slithered back to that night and the way he hadn’t been able to climax since.

Not that he’d masturbated much up to then, but even a fevered dream or too much friction on the pew in front of him could accidentally make him coat his undergarments in hot release before. Now, even as he repeated the Father’s actions with his fingers, held tight onto his thin wrists, or stroked over his length, he could do nothing more but cry in frustration about the pleasure Father Sanchez could give him. Perhaps this was the debt he must pay for his sinful ways.

_“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”_

He couldn’t help but think back to the congregation’s weekly scripture, and the priest’s personal favorite, at a moment like this. It was stupid, more than idiotic to assume that he should do this, go back to Father Sanchez and tell him that he was lusting after him, but what else could he do? He’d waited so long, tried with earnest intent to look the other way and forget, but even Satan was once an angel. Was it a surprise that a young alter boy had a hard time resisting his carnal desires?

He’d need to wait for a little while longer though, linger in the shadows just long enough to gather a story and whisper it into the booth when nobody else was around. Father Sanchez was known to be a powerful man in God, perhaps he could give him a blessing and send him on his way, leaving Morty cleansed of whatever demon was clawing beneath his skin. After all, his last confession hadn’t been done in the proper fashion, but in a slapdash manner when God’s servant was prompted to find and stop him in the act. If they did it in the directed ways of the Lord, it could conclude in a manner befitting of the Bible.

Serving in perfectly pressed robes during the day, and writhing under the hold of his desires at night, Morty struggled through another week of unquenchable torment, weaving together a confident script.

On a deep summer night, thick with humidity, and a sun that wavered in the sky far too long, Morty found his opportunity to use it and relinquish whatever lies he’d been withholding to find at least a dose of relief. The nuns had gone back to the convent, the members were swamped and forced into their homes from the weather, and only the lone orphan and the elderly priest were left to cross paths.

Uttering a final prayer under his breath, the boy clad in scarlet wound through the echoing halls and under barrel-vaulted ceiling to reach the confession booth, sitting beside the alter. He could feel his body quivering with anxiety and anticipation as he climbed under the raven veil and into the oak wood box, just a thin sheet of perforated wood separating Morty from the man he was about to admit lusting after.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been… one month--”

“No it hasn’t,” the voice corrected, piercing through the divets of the wood and stabbing into the boy’s feeble confidence. “It has been exactly three months since your last confession, Morty Smith, but do continue.”

He could barely speak. Only ten words into his confession, and his plans had derailed.

“I-I… Since my last confession… I accuse myself of-of the sin of sexual impurity, both in mind and body.” He could feel his cheeks burning, and he was tempted to leave after that, all of his hopes drained when he realized he’d actually admitted what he’d done, after the priest confronted him about it head on. What if he said he was unworthy of forgiveness because he retreated back to the hands of sin, despite a saving intervention from a man of God?

“I see, my child… It seems my previous actions have proven fruitful. Tell the Father what ails your spirit.”

That was in more than a few way a surprising response from Father Sanchez. He hated, almost as much as sinfulness, his time being wasted. Morty thought that upon hearing the repeat of misconduct, he would growl about sloth and indifference to God acting as the gateway to sinfulness, not give him the chance to explain himself.

“I can’t stop thinking a-about it, sex, and despite my prayers, my mind wanders back to… being in the act…” He finished in a whisper, terrified of possible responses.

“Your prayers are left useless? Well, perhaps you’ll be requiring some more proactive measures to save your soul.” It came out a growl, the clipped end of the sentence smacking against his heated skin and raising chills.

“Proactive?”

“Yes, my child. As you made clear to me a month again, you are an adamant, faithful boy of prayer. If they don’t seem to be working, then there is more to the issue that must be addressed head on.”

What sort of action could he be talking about? He’d never heard of someone being helped through lustfulness, not that people would talk about it with fellow members, but the only other method he could think of was--

“Exorcism will be performed. Not in the sense that you are aware of, but in the much more intimate, tasking variety tailored to this specific demon.”

He’d heard Father Sanchez perform exorcisms on people, shouts and chants echoing through the halls and making all of the God fearing people in the church quake. The supposed normal practice seemed chilling already, so what could a more tasking type be like? Would he even survive it or be left a pile of ash, swept over with the heel of the priest’s boot?

“I don’t… Is it scary?”

“Did you come here to get help or not, my boy? I am offering you a chance at a clear conscience. You chose how you’ve spent your time sinning, so you must face whatever consequences come with it, if you want purity.”

He had a point there. As much as he feared what methods the Father had for him, he understood he’d shatter under the need for sinful satisfaction after a while longer.

“Alright, Father… I give you permission to-to rid me of this burdensome demon.”

“Perfect.” He could almost hear the smirk on the priest’s face, the glimmering eyes he’d flash when he’d proven a point shining bright. Morty always thought it was such a turn on.

In less than a moment, Father Sanchez was out of the booth and by his side, lifting the curtain and staring down at the boy, lips curled into a knowing smile.

“Come along, my child. It could be a long night.” He extended a hand to Morty, gold rings glimmering under the soft candlelight.

Doing his best to be compliant, Morty took it, letting a small, clammy hand fall into one of the weathered, long hands of the priest before pulling it away to begin walking. He watched as Father Sanchez wiped his hand on his inky robes, walking off to the east wing and down the corridor, the click of their shoes ricocheting off of the stone walls.  

“Just in here, Morty,” He was told, almost missing the door as he kept walking. He’d expected them to go into the exorcism room three doors down, but instead, they entered here, into a room that had only existed as a locked door until now.

He looked around the large space, each of the walls occupied by wood cabinets and counters, some of them outlined with silver or embellished with stain glass. At the center, there was a bed, and off to the side, one fluffed armchair rested alone. With nothing to expect, Morty shivered with worry, standing off to the side and clinging to the edges of his robe.

“It’s all right, my child. Take a deep breath.” Father Sanchez moved to stand behind him, resting a hand above his tailbone and making the boy squeak with how his manhood responded to it. Now wasn’t the time for that...

“You have to be loose and open to what may be asked of you, got it? The demon inside of you will try to resist, but it will help you most if you are responsive and cooperative through the process.”

That seemed reasonable enough.

“Now,” The priest continued, taking a seat on the chair to the side. “I need you to bend over my lap.”

That, however, was not.

Morty wasn’t going to stand a chance against whatever methods the Father could ask of him if it started with that. Just being near the man raised the hair on his neck; being on his lap could only result in a pitiful erection, which he’d been after this whole time but couldn’t have now.

“But I--”

“Morty, cooperative.”

Summoning his legs forward, he walked with closed eyes to Father Sanchez and took a deep breath before sliding his covered chest onto the lean thighs, knees bent on the ground. If he did anymore than this, he’d be a goner for sure.

“This isn’t going to suffice. I need your arms and torso on the armrest of this chair, and your hips on top of my lap.” There wasn’t much room to debate as the man easily lifted him up and positioned him in the desired place, his hand smoothing down the wrinkled robe before pulling it up to tuck under Morty’s shoulders.

“Oh God,” Morty whimpered, wriggling and trying to move the robe down to cover himself again or at least move his aching length that was now pressed to a thigh.

“I figured you’d be resistant, but it’s even worse than I suspected. I won’t be able to go easy on you for this, boy. You’re acting like you like this. Is that what’s going on?”

“N-No, Father!” Morty tried to lie, getting the response of his undergarments ripped down and his bottom cheeks smacked hard enough to steal breath.

“I’ll generously repeat myself for your benefit. Is this something you like, Morty? Being tucked over a man’s knee?”

His mind was dizzy, the sharpened words hitting his ears like garbled nonsense. With his silence, he felt another violent thwap to his rear, stinging even after the hand was pulled away. It made little sense to him, but Morty wanted more. It hurt like Hell, but the way the cold metal rings brushed against the dip from his ass to his thighs, and the pressure that came with the long spindly fingers left the boy rutting into the priest’s thigh.

“Tell me you like it, Morty.”  

Not that he could admit that… He could blame it on shame, on pride that also needed to be adjusted, but the reality was that Morty didn’t know if he could afford to let it stop just yet, if that’s what would happen.

“I don’t… It hurts too much…”

“Oh, Child. I can give you a break. Perhaps it’ll clear your mind and allow you to think again.”

He almost spoke up to change his answer and say that it was too light, mouth pulled by the reins and tossed back when one of the weathered hands began needing into the skin. It left the remaining flicks of pain buzzing into his skin, calluses massaging out the ache. Morty could tell he’d ruined this almost affectionate gesture when he moaned out, keening his hips forward again.

“Too much?” The priest chuckled, hitting him with a resounding clap. “My dear boy, I saw you a month ago. I know you can take a lot more pain than this. I’ll even prove it.”

Morty was panting, trying not to squirm and make his circumstances worse as he waited, but he grew more worried as he heard the priest’s tone of excitement, head held down when he attempted to look back. What was he going to do? Was he going to bring out that metal contraction from last time? What?

“I’m no idiot, Morty Smith, and as much as it may ‘hurt,’ I must do these things for your benefit. So, again, are you enjoying any part of this?”

“No…?” The mix or worry at the backlash but hope for more satisfying pain made the word tumble out of his mouth and seem like a challenge, earning a reaction from Father Sanchez as he walloped the raw cheeks with a sheet of wood.

“Oh my God! Father, I can’t!”

“Speak the truth? I’d agree to that statement.” He carded his hands through Morty’s hair, continuing to hold him down as he hit him again and again, changing from side to side as he increased the intensity. “But you’ll learn,” The priest ended with a whisper, wood skimming over the abused, burning cheeks.

Morty felt like he was going to cum, release onto the bunched fabric pooling in his front and fall into a quivering mess on the stone below them, even as tears began falling down his face. If he could just get a few more marks, hear the way Father Sanchez grunted as he moved his hand down, he was positive he’d be sated at least for a little while. It’d be a lot more convenient if he could do this for himself, but the boy knew that he could never reach this level of pleasure without the man above him.

“I just--I don’t like it.”

He heard the wood thrown to the ground, teething like a dropped coin before falling silent and lost out of view. Morty gulped back air, heart racing as he considered the burning stars that would be sparking in Father Sanchez’s twilight eyes and the twitch in his lip as he felt a surge of holy rage over a young orphan’s insolence.  

“No more games, Morty.”

Catching the boy off guard, the priest slid his hand under the ripe rear and up to his stomach, yanking his hips up into the air and making him rest on wobbling knees.

“Your cock is dripping with hunger,” He growled, rocking the anchoring arm against it and ripping the stability away.

“And your pretty little hole is practically asking for it.”

The priest swiped his thumb over the reactive ring of muscle, forcing a shrill scream into the open air. He needed that, more than another hit or the snide taunts. Morty could tell the priest could see right through him, understand that this was the real thing to catch the young sinner’s attention, and he ran with it. Acting fast, he shoved his thumb in and moved it against the tight walls, making the boy arch his back and wriggle like a tied up animal. There were more shifting sounds behind them as Morty clawed into the abandoned armrest to keep from falling over, and then Rick was ripping his thumb away and parting the boy’s stung cheeks as he began to pour oil over top and onto his parted thighs.

“Look at the way you swallow that up so good, Morty,” Father Sanchez drawled, pressing something rounded and increasingly thick past the clenching ring until it stopped, a small plug keeping it still.

“Oh God, Father…! Father, please.”

He was delirious. After a moment, the boy was being spanked again, and with each hit and following reaction from his body, the object inside shifted and pressed more against the aching walls, swiveling and moving with the pulsing contractions accompanying the coming apex.

“I’m gonna cum, Father! I love it! I-Cleanse me, please, and make me whole again,” He babbled out, more tears burning like flame down his steaming skin.

He didn’t care if it was just as last time: giving in when he’d benefit most, remaining stubborn against the help offered to him, or unraveling into a mess of release and wrecked muscles at the end; what he did care about was reaching that highest point, drowning in the momentary climax, and getting there with the priest as his undoing.

With one hand hitting against his raw ass and the other twirling the plug of the intruding object to Morty’s heart beat, Father Sanchez finished him off and watched as the alter boy fell slack back onto his lap, release lining in thick ropes down the man’s consecrated robes.

“I will, Morty. I’m gonna purge every vile desire from your whorish heart and rip that demon from around your soul. You just had to prove your compliance first. Now, I need you on top of the bed, the rest of your clothes off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of that last line: Rick is going to wreck your ass, dude. Poor Morty lol XD
> 
> Thoughts?? Is it okay that I added more?? Because I don't know if I should have let this stay where it was. I was just really bored, and I needed to stop writing my Big Bang projects for a minute. 
> 
> Kind comments and kudos are always appreciates ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> Is this not how confession and religion work?? I'm totally kidding. I should probably do the real repentance for writing this kind of thing haha.
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this and that it wasn't too weird and terrible bc oneshots are not my thing haha.


End file.
